


i be on my suit and tie shit

by impravidus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Banter, Crack, Flirting, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus
Summary: Based on this Tumblr post: one time at h&m i thought a guy was a mannequin so i started feeling the material of his coat and i screamed when he moved and we were both really freaked out
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 359
Collections: Peter Parker





	i be on my suit and tie shit

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to angxlsgrxce for helping me with this one!

“Is this really necessary?”

“You dress like a four year old going to his first day of preschool, Peter.”

“So?”

“So?!” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Peter, I cannot allow you to go to this gala in a rent-and-wear tuxedo that fifteen sweaty high school show choir geeks wore to their senior prom.”

“Uhm, one: specific. And two:  _ ouch _ ?! I’d think that I’m at least at high school football player level of muscle mass.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Lacrosse?” Peter questioned.

Tony sighed. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Peter asked exasperatedly.

“The point is that I want you to look nice, and I know you like dressing for comfort and for not sticking out, but this kind of event, you’ll stick out more if you’re not dressed to the nines,” Tony said. “So, you need a nice tux.”

“Or I could just… not go?”

Tony glared at Peter, the kind of glare that made Peter feel like he had just been caught eating dry pasta out of the box and sipping on a jar of marinara which is a very specific feeling that he knew much too well. “ _ Peter _ .”

“Yes…?” Peter drew out.

“The Richards Bright Minds Gala is the perfect opportunity to get your name out in the science community. Your thesis on hypermetabolic cell regeneration is unprecedented.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I mean, there’s gonna be a lot of really smart people there—”

“Which is exactly why  _ you _ should be there too. You’re brilliant, Peter. Act like it.”

So, realizing that he wasn’t going to take no for answer, Peter agreed.

“I’ll get a tux.”

Suit shopping was nerve-wracking.

There was too much fashion knowledge required that he didn’t have to understand the ‘nuance of the pieces’ and the differences between the fabrics and cuts and fits and, wait, are cuts and fits different things? Because he could’ve sworn that cut and fit were the same thing, but they keep referring to them as different things, so they must be different things.

The salesperson left Peter to wander the store and feel around at the different options after handing him a glass of sparkling lemon water (the sparkling water wasn’t lemon flavored, it was plain sparkling water with a slice of lemon in it) that Peter  _ definitely  _ didn’t trust himself not to spill over these  _ absurdly expensive  _ suits.

Peter may have known nothing about blends and percentages, but he did know what felt good and what felt like sandpaper that was both on fire and covered in flesh-rotting acid.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. But, hey! He had sensitive senses, okay?

It had been a grueling ten minutes (or ten hours, who really knows?) when a mannequin standing on a pedestal in the corner of the shop caught Peter’s attention.

The tuxedo was sleek and modern yet classic and lowkey. A smooth grey, shining under the bright LED bulbs of the shop, with a sheen that was almost a silver.

Peter approached the mannequin and ran his fingers down the side of the jacket to feel the fit around the hips. He was trailing his fingers gently over the waist when he heard a sharp breath.

“Uh, hello?” the mannequin said.

Peter froze. “You’re a real person.”

“I sure hope I am?” Real Person said, looking to Peter with a raised brow.

“I’m  _ so sorry. _ You were just standing so still, I thought you were… ugh, this is so embarrassing.” Peter covered his blushing face with his hands.

“In your defense, I was standin’ pretty still.” He smiled awkwardly.” I’m, uh, gettin’ fitted. Can’t exactly move ‘less I wanna get stabbed by a million little pins.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” Peter said.

“Think it might be a theatre thing?” At Peter’s bewildered response, he continued. “When I was in  _ Grease _ , I had to freeze in a pose for the entirety of Hoplessly Devoted. It killed my neck after the first two minutes and killed my back even more during rehearsals, but uh, I got good at it I guess.”

“Huh,” Peter said. 

“Yeah,” he replied. 

There was an awkward lull.

“Oh! Uh, where did you get that suit?” Peter asked.

“It’s a Giorgio Fiorelli,” he said. “It’s a vested three piece. Should be over there.” He tilted his head.

“Right. Thanks. I’m gonna just, uh, leave you to it then.”

“Good luck with your suit shoppin’,” he said.

“You too.” Peter winced in even further embarrassment. 

Peter did end up getting the Giorgio Fiorelli tuxedo that he saw on the definitely-not-a-mannequin-real-very-attractive-very-swoon-worthy-Real-Person, and even got it fitted!

The evening of the gala, Peter stood in front of his mirror taming his curls for a good fifteen minutes. 

The suit fit perfectly still, thankfull, with no new stains or rips. 

“You got this, Peter. It’s just a fancy science party. You can handle this. You’ve been to parties.” He paused. “Well, the one party you got invited to, you ditched to take down alien arms dealers, and you really didn’t stay long enough to really understand the whole party thing.” He paused again. “Unless you count birthday parties because you’ve totally gone to those. So this is just like a big, fancy, science, birthday party without the birthday or the cake or presents.” Pause. “Wait, is there gonna be cake? I hope there’s cake.”

He shook his head, careful to mess up his hair, and stepped out of the bathroom.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” May asked as tied Peter’s bow tie.

“Wallet, phone, keys—”

“Business cards?”

“Business cards,” Peter confirmed. Mr. Stark insisted that he made them, though Peter didn’t understand why.

Well, he did understand. Potential job prospects. 

Which is just… crazy. He was seventeen! He didn’t even know what college he was going to, let alone what science corporation he’d want to settle down at.

He’d love to work at Stark Industries, he would. And he knew that Mr. Stark would gladly give him a job if he’d asked, but he honestly wanted to get somewhere without Mr. Stark’s influence.

No nepotism. No special favors. Just Peter Parker and his Peter Parkerness.

The gala was nothing like he’d imagined and more. Every conversation he had was riveting, discussing theories and projects and trials with passionate aspiring scientists.

He had lost Mr. Stark hours prior as he made his rounds, even giving out his cards to adults who seemed riveted by his research.

He was heading to the bar for a shirley temple refill when he heard a familiar baritone.

“Oh! Here he is! Harley, this is Peter Parker.”

Peter looked up and went rigid in pure mortification.

“Well, one of us needs to change,” Real Person—  _ Harley _ teased, a cheeky smirk on his lips.

“Oh God.  _ You! _ ” Peter squeaked.

“Good to see you too,” Harley beamed.

“You two know each other?” Tony questioned.

“I wouldn’t say know. More like  _ he _ got a little handsy with me, and I just couldn’t forget a face like that,” Harley said.

Peter’s face burned an even brighter pink.

“Looks like you found the suit just fine,” Harley said. “And I can see what I’m finding fine.”

Peter choked.

“No. Uh uh. Nope. Peter is  _ off limits,  _ Keener,” Tony declared.

“Aw, come on, old man. This is just conversation.  _ Friendly _ conversation. It’s the least you could let me have since you’ve obviously been holdin’ out on me.”

Tony, teeth gritted, turned to Peter. “Peter, this is Harley Keener.”

Peter shook his hand, cringing as his cold, sweaty palm met the blonde’s. “Peter. Parker. How do you two know each other?”

“Long story. Not that interesting.” He shrugged. “I hear that you work in the labs with Tony. I’ve gotta ask, does he still do that thing where he where he talks like you’re not in the room with him?”

“Yeah, yeah, like he’s  _ talking _ but not talking to  _ you _ ?” Peter continued.

“Exactly! And it’s always complete and utter madness.”

Peter began to mumble rapidly. “But five seventy-two bolt, nut, bolt, and then, two forty-one bolt, nut,  _ nut,  _ three above, no! Under, through, and down seventeen sixty five.”

They both laughed, Tony with a grumbling frown as he crossed his arms. “I do  _ not _ sound like that.”

“You do,” Peter and Harley said at the same time, bursting into even louder guffaws.

“I think I need a refill,” Harley stated. “You’d like to come with, Peter Parker?”

“I would love to,” Peter said with a smile.

“See you later, Tony!” Harley called over his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around Peter, the two breaking into a fit of giggles.

Tony blinked incredulously. “What just happened?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is painfully stereotypical but I was in the mood to write some cheesy Parkner. 
> 
> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [official-impravidus](https://official-impravidus.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want to join a Parkner Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/vztSVpg)


End file.
